Rosy Smith: rosy'sstyle

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Can I just say that

a) I've been logged out of my google and twitter and everything account for some reason.

b) I never log out, mostly because I'm lazy and also because I always forget my passwords.

c) I remembered the Google one but it failed me on Twitter.

d) My regular email account did not receive Twitter's link mails.

e) My other account did, though. A miracle is upon us.

d) The mails suggested I use my Twitter app to reset my password. Which does not sound like such a bad idea.

e) HOWEVER, the app requests me to type in my OLD password in order to reset it.

f) Why the hell would anyone want to reset their password if they freaking remember it?

g) Oh, now those emails work, huh.

Okay, now that is out of the way. Thus (I should've studied English), the past half hour was evidently not spent cleaning this place up. Which is a shame, considering that I

a) Felt gross when I came home so I hopped in and out of the shower without looking back (eg. wipe).

b) Got hungry because I spent ages doing a) so I stumbled out to the store across the street where I bought overpriced breakfast bars, shrimps and juice (the clerk has to be used to my weird eating habits by now. He even helped me carry my juice sixpack to the register. But he kept the change, which wasn't what I meant by "that'll do" when I handed him a larger sum. I meant "sorry but you'll have to calculate my change". I'll speak in full sentences next time). By nine pm, I finally ate, but I didn't get around to load the dishwasher yet 'cause I started my nighttime routine of Friends and chocolate.

c) Have not put any clothes back into the closets all week. Interestingly enough, all my closet doors are wide open, though.

I'm thinking about getting a grip right now and tidy, but I have to get up at seven tomorrow (in journalism, no one really starts working before half past nine usually (I'll get back on that in another story), so this is gruesome for me) because we're doing a shoot somewhere in town. I'll have to try and remember how to assist at that kinda thing. Last time, I was mostly sat on the sofa trying on pointy boots and zipping skirts open and closed. I'm guessing it won't be quite the same.

What am I gonna wear, by the way? I had my comfortable outfit on today already (leggins, but pretending they're those hip joggers, and my slouchy feelgood sweater, and ballet flats in a desperate attempt to look Audrey Hepburn perky), so it's gonna be a skirt.

Figured it out, thanks to the open closet. It's half past eleven now and I'm tired and I still have to memorize my train times for tomorrow. And wipe the shower, 'cause I can practically hear my parents telling me to do so from back home.

Nighty night, then.

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: No, I don't speak Chinese. But I can look at the pictures.

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My dad asked me if I was going out the other night, 'cause I had my brightest red lipstick on, but unfortunately, my plans for the evening consisted of taping my mom's TV show (she was out dancing. Find the flaw). Anyways, I told him that's because I went to the hair salon. See, when you have to stare at yourself for an hour in unflattering light, you gotta do a little something pretty to your face. It worked quite well, actually. I got tiny corkscrew curls done with a scary looking hot tool (sometimes, the stylist, who's 16 weeks pregnant, got this spaced-out look in her eyes and smoke descended from my head and I'd get a bit worried, but let's face it, there's not much damage left to do to my hair, so).

Oh and while we're in the chair, let's all remember never to share a Cloud with a guy, even when you get married and have a kid, 'cause you may still break up and have to endure the fact that one day you look at your Ipad pictures and see a little (or a lot, depending on your ex's type) more of his new girl than you ever feared you would. And then your friend, the hair stylist, will be in danger to lose her job because she might not be able to withstand the urge to let the razor slip a little when he's coming to get his lying scalp fixed.

Fun fact, after having read way too many articles on people who've had strokes after going to the hair salon, I am honestly scared of getting my hair washed there. You know how it's, like, the most uncomfortable sensation on the planet when your neck is placed onto the rim of the sink? I tried to hold my head up hovering about it, but I lack the necessary muscles for that. So I just got really really tense and that made it hurt even more and then I tried to get myself to just relax and enjoy the back massage from the chair but then I thought "What if I just said something it would safe me and if I didn't, something terrible will happen, due solely to the fact that I was too shy and too distracted by the freaking back massage to speak up?"

In the evening, I got a little headache and I had to ask my mom to do the FAST test on me and have her tell me that I'm completely overreacting until I could lay back and watch "The One In Barbados" (thinking about it, I could go finish that now).

Now my hair is alarmingly short but I've learned to accept that a long time ago, when I stopped having to be bribed to get it cut (I just want to state that my hair's never again been as long as it was when I was nine, so I was completely right in making a big deal out of it).

Love,

Rosy Smith

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Let's go back in time to November 30th, when I planned on writing this but forgot I had to be somewhere at eight and was way too tired afterwards (I need to go to bed at eleven the latest. I'm that old)....

Today's motto is "move b*tch" by Ludacris. It comes very handy while shuffling out of the train behind the slowest people ever (MOVE) when I'm already half an hour late to a fashion shoot (A group work, so the fear of being strangled with nude underwear is there). Or at the bus stop, where I'm contemplating to buy hand sanitizer for the visagist, who forgot hers. However, if I leave my frozen place now, it would be just my luck today to catch the next bus in an hour, so I stay. Praying for the bus to be early for once in its lifetime. I can't believe I'm this late when I didn't try to be for a change. I'm not sure what I'm even gonna be doing at the shoot, but being there would be a good start, I figure.

I was perfectly on time yesterday, when we launched our student magazine (Hell, it's called. Goes well for describing the process of making it, too). But the technic guy messed up, shining a red spot when no one was supposed to go onstage all the time and not getting our slashing neck motions. He especially didn't get it when my audio was playing, stopping it halfway through and shining the darn spot for so long that I finally went onstage, did my thing and left to stand in the curtains, loathingly glaring at him for the rest of the performance. My dad mumbled something about high school lit class presentation. Poor thing seems to realize just now that this whole school is one big high school lit class. We all wore artistic black, me in a sheer blouse and ballet flats, shivering all the way through but from the cold, not fear. Still, authenticly enough.

We did it. We shot the shoot. I hope I didn't mess up the poor model's earlobes when I fumbled with her earrings. She didn't scream in pain, but then again, she might have been too polite to do so. She was only fifteen and way more gorgeous than most fifteen year olds are. When I was fifteen, I had my first mixed party and decided that I would never invite some particular guests ever again because I realized I didn't even like them. This girl, she's shooting in underwear with a twenty-something guy with a great body all professionally. Oh well. It was good fun, sprinting into the lights in between shots, looking important while fumbling on the clothes, or the hair that fell out of place every five seconds, or screaming "clips! We need more clips", or standing behind the camera staring at the model the way I wanted her to stare at the camera, "Imagine you're in the arctis! You're so excited! But, like, only with the eyes!". I wouldn't want to have to do it as a job, because I'm too prissy to steam clothes and stuff, but assisting and confidently yelling "That's it! That's what I want!", that I can do.

Love,

Rosy Smith

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....I got so soaking wet, I could easily pretend to have fallen into the Hudson. My hair is at its absolute worst - there're like seven streaks of rain-curled frizz on my head right now. See, we were forced to walk practically a hundred blocks in a constant drizzle to examine current fashion (meaning we touched stuff and mumbled "Oh, velvet" in the tone of a tv cook critically tasting someone's apple pie) and I had not considered that when I chose my teddy coat (that's not supposed to get wet), my boots (that are not supposed to be worn for hours of walking) and my bag (that's giving me a reason to go to the orthopedic) this morning. After reluctantly shuffling through Barney's with our over-excited teacher, a lady in running shoes bearing a linnen bag who has no fear of sales people asking if we need help (eg "buy something or I'll throw your lot out"), total doom followed.

"Let's go to Chanel", she chirped, and we all stood there on Madison Avenue like abandonded dogs, muffled into our coats, faces frozen in a frightened mask. She was serious. We trot in behind her, and I become urgently aware of my chapped boots, my non-existing makeup and the subsequent resemblance of a traumatized twelve-year old I am and my hunchbag walk due to my bag that's feeling more and more like a sack with cobbles every minute. Still, I try to remain dignified and haughtily let my gaze wander over the sparkling items, as if I was actually contemplating what I think is desirable. Same game at Gucci. Even though the carpet there is an actual dream - I wanted to lie down and sink into it so badly but that kind of behaviour, may be acceptable in an overcrowded Forever 21, not here, obviously. However, my teacher hasn't gotten the memo (I always thought that it was sent to everyone as soon as they touched an issue of Vogue. My bad) and tucks on everything and stretches the fine Italian fabric to the core - does she mistrust the legacy of good ol' Guccio? How dare she? We blinked hectically, morsing "We don't know her" to the security people hovering behind us (Gosh, they never trust anyone, but this time I kind of understood).

For the grande finale, we all tumbled into the sterile white glass castle of Dior. This time, our baggage didn't even make it to the stairs, because a young woman clutching a walkie-talkie threw herself in front of us, called something French to another employee (probably "I got them! womenswear is secure, repeat, womenswear is secure") and very kindly informed us that we weren't supposed to disturb the customers 'cause shopping is such an intimate experience and would we like to see the men's collection (where no one would be offended by the pitiable sight we are) instead?

You know, it is a bit demeaning that no one considered us customers. That's mostly our teacher's fault, who always darted into the store yelling "Hello, we're students from fashion school and just want to look around". If that hadn't been the situation and if I had only washed my hair and put on shiny shoes, I would've gladly wandered through all the shops I plan on raiding as soon as I have an adult job/marry rich (Joking. Mostly.).

The only great thing about my rank look has been that come that day, no one there will recognize me.

Love.

Rosy Smith

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I'm bad at replying in time. I have an email-penpal who hasn't heard of me in so long that I am way too utterly ashamed to state how long exactly. I'm also incapable of finding the right words to start my next email with ("Hey, so, how's ....life? Do you still live in the same country as me? By the way, sorry it took so long, I was....doing everything but write to you, with no reason at all. Please still like me") and it gets worse exponentially every day.
Weeks and weeks ago, I realized that I let that annoying habit of mine slip once again, but this time, it really wasn't my fault - it was technology's! I casually browsed through my spam folder and, lacking any "ordinary" mails to read, googled one of the subject lines....and actually found it. And it wasn't something questionable or obviously weird but a real charity organization: Sreepur Village.

Basically, Sreepur Village is a funds in the UK overseeing a non-political organisation called "Shishu Polli Plus" (that means Childrens Village Plus). It's a village in Bangladesh where destitute women and children are provided with shelter, food, clothing and an education. It was officially founded in 1989 by a British Airways stewardess named Patt Kerr who came to Bangladesh while working and developed such passion for helping out there that she devoted her life to it. I really like that story (read it in more detail here) and I really liked conversing with Emma Cole, my contact in the UK, who asked me to review some of the things that are made by those women in Sreepur Village and sold online in order to raise money for the organization. Emma was so lovely, even when the parcel with the samples got returned to her and she had to send it again, not to mention the fact that I didn't reply to her for a month after she first reached out to me (as soon as I had googled the whole thing).

Since this is my first post about something other than me (I wish I was kidding), I thought a lot about how to present the samples; I figured that I'd just show you how the products, apart from supporting an admirable cause, can be of use in your/my daily life.

This concept sounded way more complex in my head. Anyways, let's get started!

When I finally got the parcel, I was in my nightgown, so excited to unpack it on the floor that I almost forgot to take pictures, but here's my first impression:

It was so much! I hadn't expected so many different items. And would you look at the cute birthday cards - I'm still trying to figure out whom to give them to. So, to all my friends, if you get them, feel special. Oh, and the bookmark is lovely, too, because it's satin soft. I'm keeping that one myself - I must have a hundred bookmarks somewhere in my room but I can't ever find one, so I don't actually use one most of the time. This one is too pretty to lose, though, so I might as well use it!

I didn't even know what a shoe bag was until I got this sweet one - but it's really useful for carrying shoes in your suitcase without getting dirt on the clothes, for example. A way classier option than plastic bags (and better for the environment and everything).

Soo, the scarves are all hand loomed. Looming was a topic on my finals. Just throwing that out there. That's how I know they are made in plain weave, too, if you happen to be interested in that kinda thing for some fathomless reason. If you're not, just know that the scarves do not show any visible flaws, no holes or loose threats at all. They're all soft and nice on your skin, being made solely from cotton and silk, which is always a good sign, qualitywise.

The sheer beige one

The day they came, I had a close friend over and decided to use the one that seemed more like a shawl (more square and very thin woven, with a portion of silk) as a table runner. I like to pretend I'm having a dinner party any time someone comes over and use random fake flowers I find around the house to set the table, and I think the shawl gave everything a more decorative touch. It's got a fine embroidery, too:

In the late evening, it got cool outside so we moved indoors - and of course I forgot to take my fancy tablecloth with me. I was showing the rest to my friend when it hit me, and I ran outside and grabbed it, and thankfully, it wasn't ruined. So I'll let this slide as some sort of resistance test: Even though it was a bit damp, I hung it up over a chair and it's as good as new to this day. It's also my mom's favorite item, if you've been wondering.

The classic black and white checked one

I like the sixties-diner-vibe that comes with this one. It goes great with denim and muted colors and adds a touch of playfulness to a simple outfit like this with its pattern, as do the tights. I never thought that a scarf and a leather jacket would make for a cool combo, but I must say that I felt pretty cute in it!

The Cream One

This is my personal favorite piece! Cream is such a universal color that this would probably go with anything, especially with darker coats, but I wanted to stress that it has evening wear qualities: Perfect for fall, as it is that time of the year when you (I) desperately deny the fact that it's already freezing because you want to go bare-legged forever. A scarf may not warm your legs (except for when you drape it over them as a duvet) but your neck and shoulders and arms....and it looks really pretty, too.

The Bluish-Purpleish check

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Mayday Mayday (I just like to say that) and without further ado....

I want a tulle skirt and chunky heeled sandals. Just throwing it out there. See, I just realized that I could have made all my Carrie Bradshaw fueled desires come true way before this season seeing as it would have just been a totally trend-setting thing to do. It does make sense - why wouldn't anyone want to wear as much tulle as possible? As for the sandals, I originally wanted to get some simple stilettos with a heel that wouldn't kill me quite as soon as other pairs of mine do - but then I recognized that I completely lack a pair of heeled summer shoes which aren't evening wear, and that simply can't stay this way; so I went online shopping eg put a dozen similar pairs in my virtual cart and am now slowly throwing them out one by one, until I find the one I want most. Who says I don't have a system.

I'm halfway through Gilmore Girl's final season and I can see where this is heading and I'm not going to spoil anything but I'm a little upset (though not as much that I wouldn't still love it passionately) because it has me thinking how sad it is that two people can be so in love, and not just any kind of love, but real, true, meant-to-be love, and then....break up. Not be together anymore. And worse; be with other people and starting from the beginning and telling your jokes and stories all over again, but to a different person who has different eyes and a different reaction - and you love them, you really do, but you've told that other person you loved them, too, and you meant it as well. I know this happens again and again and to almost everyone at some point of their lives - but I still find it unbelievably tragic to think about.

I need to stop trying to paint my nails and doubletexting when I know better. In no specific order. I mean, usually no one is hurt in either process, but it would just look better if I avoided both.

Summer gets me very sunny-minded most of the time - don't you just love the feeling of bare feet on sun warmed stone terraces? Going places is good too; it can be the simplest (is that the right form? This will be bothering me) thing such as the cinema thrice, the riverside, to a backyard - as long as it holds lovely people, great conversation, and much appreciatedly, some food, all is well.

Just don't forget you have a bunch of projects due you didn't even start yet. Or rather, remember it some other day.

Love,

Rosy Smith

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....See, I was going through my post drafts just now and everything I've written in the last couple weeks and didn't want to publish right away is semi serious (you know I don't do full on serious by principle) and I'm not in the mood to try and carefully formulate catchy phrases, so here I am, improvising.

This weird inner peace I wanted to tell you about but didn't because I'm so damn peaceful seemed like a good thing to talk about just a second ago. You might have realized by now that I get hysteric when a person I don't even like doesn't text me back within 12 hours. However, when a person I have some sort of dating thing going on with doesn't text me after 24 hours since we last saw each other, I'm like "Well. He wouldn't just suddenly stop liking me. I mean, why would he." It's irritating and unlike me and it's freaking out my friends, but I'm good, I really am.

I'm just applying a peel off mask - I decided that a 2013 expiration date is completely fine to use. It's an emergency, really; I have to leave the house tomorrow and do not feel capable of doing so if this mask doesn't drastically change things, like, right now. I should also redo my nails. It's a shame I'm so awfully tired even though I'm not doing anything particulary exhausting (except for ripping off that mask without ripping off my skin). One of my closest friends is a pre-med. I don't even want to know how she feels because it makes me feel bad (aren't I understanding).

Since I have chosen to prentend to be a fashion victim instead of saving lives, I can brag about going shopping and consider it work experience. At least, that's my definition of things. I got some lovely items I have been longing for, such as a fake leather jacket without a collar ('cause those make me feel icky). Finally I can wear T-shirts and jeans and make it look cool 'cause of my jacket. A red velours dress 'cause I'm a nineties kid who would wear her velours leggins and velvet top and choker together and not give a damn. A little black dress with shoulder cut-outs 'cause there's no such thing as too many black dresses. And a lacey top in that emerald color I like to think makes my eyes look greener. It's scandalous how these things satisfy me, but on the other hand, it's never hard to buy me presents, and that's something to work with, isn't it?

Another note on collars: Please, if you must wear them, don't fold them upwards. I can't be with anyone who does. Just saying.

Love,

Rosy Smith

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